


I Wish We Lived in More Enlightened Times...

by for_t2



Series: A Brief History of Shoot [3]
Category: Europa Universalis (Video Games), Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, France (Country), French Revolution, Humor, Italy, London, Mongolia, Nerdiness, Puns & Word Play, Vikings, comets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21564178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2
Summary: Peasants are always superstitious, and the appearance of a comet in the sky has caused panic among our people, and somehow, Root and Shaw just happen to be at the centre of everything
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Series: A Brief History of Shoot [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/866199
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	I Wish We Lived in More Enlightened Times...

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by everyone's favourite EU4 event

_**1021** _

"We've got to keep moving!"

The shout barely made it through the freezing wind to the frostbitten ears of the proud and mighty warriors and explorers.

"Almost there!"

Somehow, the raging blizzard didn't stop them. They had sailed all the way from Iceland to this incredible new land, so a little snow wasn't get in their way now. Hell, it would never get in their way. Nothing stops a Viking.

"Yääh!" Their leader, the brave Säm Shåwsson cried out as she slumped down against the soft, soft furs in the caves they were (temporarily) taking shelter in, after a minor navigational mishap involving an iceberg. When the Sun rose, they had decided to set out on foot. And, well, that's when the blizzard hit.

"Drink and eat!" She proclaimed. She had been looking forward to a good reindeer steak all day. "Tomorrow, we try again."

Harald the Finch, their first leader, broke his leg about two hours after they left port, and typically, Jon, his second in command stayed behind when they dumped him. That left Shåw, one of of the group's healers, as number three, and she proved herself early. She protected them, quickly showed them just how to use she was, and let absolutely nothing faze her.

Except for one thing.

That night, the blizzard cleared, she found found herself shaken awake and dragged outside. "What's going..." She followed the pointed fingers. "Oh."

Up in the sky, a snowball shined across the sky, and in all their navigational charts, they had no record of it, no hint as to what it was.

So, of course, once the shock settled down, debates broke out on every side of her. Which god sent it, which fate it foretold, whether Ragnarök had started or whether it was merely something more mundane.

"Can't you hear Her?"

The debates stopped just as suddenly as they began, and every single Viking among them turned slowly to face the voice.

"We're going to have so much fun together."

It wasn't their idea to bring her along. In fact, they kinda thought (hoped) that she had been lost in the blizzard. She was... creepy and unsettling doesn't even begin to describe her grin, let alone the rest of her. But, unfortunately, she had been exiled, and here she was, staring down at them from above their cave.

"You better have a good explanation, Rööt." Shåw especially hated her, in no small part because she was annoyingly fixated on her (and was not entirely unattractive).

"We need to..." Rööt paused, enjoying the dramatic effect. "Sacrifice a human heart!"

"Bullshit."

"I don't make the rules, Säm."

"You just make shit up."

Rööt laughed as she jumped down and strided over to loom down at Shåw. "Of course," she whispered. "You already have mine." And kissed her.

No one dared speak a word.

"I hear the weather will be excellent tomorrow," Rööt said with a terrible attempt at a wink, before just as dramatically marching away to who knows where.

And the really annoying thing about her? She was always right.

_**1222** _

So much land, so little time.

Shawghis Khan groaned as her advisers debated over maps, arguing over the tiniest details of potential battles. In her humble opinion, it wasn't nearly as complicated as they made it out to be. You've got land, she's got soldiers, therefore, your land becomes her land.

Just before one of them could launch into a particularky impassioned monologue, she managed to slip away. Freed from the bickering, and out into the fresh air and soft grasses of the steppe, she devised a plan of her own. First, to make a diplomatic visit to the horses enclosure, to pay her respects to the great warhorse Bear. Second, to organise a raid on the kitchen huts, and to enjoy the delicious spoils of conquest.

Unfortunately, those plans came to a halt the moment she stretched, reflexively titling her head up.

Flying across the sky, a white dragon, perhaps, its tail spreading across the stars.

"Huh." It didn't scare Shawghis. Nothing did. But that doesn't mean she knew what to make of it.

"It's an omen, you know."

"An omen?"

"That's what She says." Shawghis didn't always understand the ways of her most deadly assassin, and occasional (only) companion, but Rööt had a way of being annoyingly accurate about this type of stuff.

"An omen of what?"

"Destiny." She also had a way of being annoyingly cryptic. "You don't need to worry about which lands to conquer."

"And why not."

"Because they're all your destiny." Rööt grinned. "It's, as you like to say, hammer time."

Shawghis grinned too.

_**1350** _

"Bring out your dead!"

The bells echoed down the street and through the thin wooden door of the apoctherapy. Life wasn't easy for Sam Shawski before the Plague hit, her tour as a mercenary having left her with almost no money to her title. Fortunately, she had picked up a few skills along the way, and once she returned to her native Crimea, she quickly became a doctor of some reputation. Some loved the way she was able to perform any surgery without so much as a grimace, others complained to the town mayor that she scared the children. But, still, she made enough to eat and keep her faithful companion Bear fed, so she was happy.

Until the Plague hit.

She thought she had seen death as a mercenary. She hadn't. And no matter what she did, how many herbs she tried, nothing seemed to stop it. Every person she tried to save never returned home.

She was in the middle of writing a letter to requisition a new herb she had heard of, a rumour passed down from some distant land, when she heard four sharp knocks at her door.

"Bring..." She trailed off at the sight of the women before her. A former foe on the battlefield, a former mercenary colleague, a former friend and... more. Someone who she had long assumed dead. "Root."

"Sam." She didn't say anything more as she dragged Shaw out onto the dirty streets. "Look."

Across the sky, a sign that could only mean one thing.

"God has passed judgment on us, hasn't She?"

Root didn't say anything, just kept her grip on Sam's hand tight.

"Root?"

"The end is nigh."

_**1431** _

The march had been going so well.

First Auxerre, then Troyes, then Reims, and soon, Paris itself. Until the stupid comet appeared.

Sam d'Arc was not a superstitious person, in fact, she prided herself on being just a simple warrior and a successful warrior, but the rest of her amy, not so much. And so the moment it appeared in the heavens above them, their march ground to a halt. It was small consolation that the English had done the same.

So, with an army refusing to march, Sam had to find her own ways of passing the time. Some jousting with Jean de Reese, some spirited (on his side) debate with Harold le Finch, and some definitely spirited (and varied) activities with-- 

"Oh, hello, Sam."

"Back for some more, Root?" Sam would be embarrassed at how willing she was, but she was really bored and the sex was really good.

"Happy birthday." Root stuffed a small pouch into Sam's hands.

"It's not my..." A very smelly pouch. "What's in this thing?"

Root smiled serenly at her. "Don't worry, I'll be back for you." And then wandered off, leaving Sam alone with the pouch.

"Well that wasn't cryptic."

Sam was about to inspect the contents of the bag when she heard the shouting.

And she didn't have the chance to see what it was before it came to her in the form of a crowd of angry knights. All of whom were staring directly at her.

"She's a witch!"

_**1640** _

"No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

"We're not in Spain."

"Close enough."

Sometimes, Samuela Shawcenzo didn't know whether to laugh at the too young to be senile professor she had been hired to protect, or whether she should punch her and her stupid jokes. They said she was a genius, and even if she'd never admit it, Shawcenzo had seen and understood enough of her work to know that they had a point, her detailed sketches of comets being particularly impressive. So when the job offer came through she jumped at the chance.

Unfortunately, they also neglected to mention why the professor needed a new bodyguard. Part of it was because she was just psychotic enough to be scary (and terrifyingly good with a knife). The other part was because, in all her brilliance, she had decided that it would be a good idea to piss off Pope Greer I, and, indeed, to keep pissing him off.

"We need to get moving, Professor."

"That's not the plan, Sam."

"What plan?"

"Her plan."

Before Shawcenzo could physically drag her to safety, the four knocks came banging through the door, followed by the Pope's men, and the Pope himself.

"I've been waiting a long to punish your heresy."

Roolileo Roolilei just sighed melodramatically. "I wish we lived in more enlightened times."

_**1789** _

Despite the crowds jeering for blood and the creaky cart bumping along the road with every rotation, neither of the two prisoners seemed particularly concerned.

Of course, the famous Shawspierre wouldn't be - her reputation for being unflinching and incorruptible had briefly seen her become a figurehead of the Revolution, capturing over a dozen aristocrats with her own bare hands.

As for the other prisoner, well... Roôt l'Anarchiste's name kinda said it all. If Shawspierre was a loyal soldier, Roôt was a fanatic. If Shawspierre enjoyed the thrill of battle, Roôt enjoyed the thrill of the kill.

But despite their differences, and despite a first meeting involving a little bit of (creative) torture, the two woman had eventually come to an understanding. A partnership. Friendship. A sort of intimacy.

But the Revolution soon came for them too.

And, so here they were, minutes away from la guillotine, the torches of the crowd barely covering the night sky, and the bright comet flying above them.

"Wait for the bang."

"Huh?" If there was ever a time for the anarchist to stop talking in riddles, surely it would be right before their sudden but inevitable demise.

"If only they had some comet sense," Roôt chuckled at her own stupid pun, looking out at the crowd.

"Just--"

It was at that moment that the carriage cracked, tipping over with a bang.

_**1861** _

Shawlock Holmes had had enough.

Really, it was bad enough having to patrol the smoggy streets of London for petty thieves, but her promotion to chief of security for the Royal Stock Exchange brought a whole new raft of problems, especially the kind involving politician and alcohol. Fortunately, Lord Finch's personal head of security, Sir Reese, had volunteered to give a hand to an old army friend, but sometimes, it just wasn't enough.

The current situation was dire.

With half the city engorging themselves on the spectacular sight of the comet passing over the Empire, it was the perfect time for an ambitious thief.

And, annoyingly, Shawlock and Reese had failed to catch that thief.

But the comet was still there, and Shawlock knew that the thief would try again. Arrogance, narcissim, and a penchant for deviancy would fit the profile perfectly. And, so, Shawlock laid her trap, and-- 

"Fools," the not-unattractive voice materialised next to Shawlock, a woman, dressed all in black, her expression curious towards the comet. "Don't they know it's the economy?"

"I don't believe we've met, miss...?"

The stranger stepped closer to Shawlock. Very very close. "You can call me Root," she whispered.

"It's a pleasure to..." Wait. Root. Shawlock knew that name. "You!" The thief!

Root winked at her (terribly). And before Shawlock knew it, she was gone.

"Shit. " Shawlock's whistle was gone too. "Shit!"

_**1986** _

The exhausted family pushed their way through the airport crowds to get to the window.

"Look, Sameen." Refugees, having escaped Iran with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the people they love. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Her father hoisted the three year old girl on his shoulders to give her a better look at the comet shining among the stars.

Sameen Shaw looked at it for about five seconds. And then she wanted some chocolate.

Miles away, on the other side of the continent, buried deep within the Texas farmlands, two young girls snuck out bed and found each other.

"Tell me again."

"Why?"

"It's fascinating," Hannah replied, grabbing her hand. "Especially the way you tell it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Somewhere beneath her blushing smile, a seven-year old Sam Groves was having a crisis of faith. Far too hardened for a kid, she had long ago realised that the universe was, to use a word her mother liked, fucked. But, tonight, with an actual friend beside her, and the comet serene in against the starry night, maybe she could reconsider.

Maybe the universe wasn't all bad.

_**2017** _

The numbers never stopped coming.

Even after they defeated Samaritan, there was always something new around the corner. Someone new to save, someone new to stop.

But this time, they had more than they ever had before. They had help, they had experience, and most of all, they had each other. And the Machine, having way too much fun with Her new voice, spent way too much time (in Shaw's opinion) making them chase clues which inevitably led to the two of them being alone, together in some new part of the city (Root thought it was the most romantic thing in the world).

And that's how they found themselves here, another number saved, the day turned into night, ontop of a skyscraper with a spare bottle of very expensive wine (a gift from said number).

"It's a shame." Root mumbled. "The light pollution."

Shaw nodded.

"Back in..." Root drew a deep breath in, wincing as the not entirely healed muscles in her chest stretched. "Hannah liked watching the stars."

Shaw wasn't sure what to say. Root never talked about before. Never. "They're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you."

"Smooth." Shaw raised an eyebrow.

Root grinned. "I try."

"It's the first thing I remember." Shaw isn't usually big on the whole talking thing. But Root's always an exception. "After my parents came here. The comet."

Root snuggled up closer to Shaw, and a for a moment, she said nothing. "After she was murdered, I never thought I'd see it again, but..."

"But?"

"Maybe someday, we can see it together. When it comes back."

"How long?"

"Oh," Root smirked. "About 2061."

"45 years."

"It's not long." Root clutched Shaw's hand a little tighter. "Not with you."

Falling in love is stupid. But the way Shaw feels around Root is anything but. "I'm looking forward to it."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 100% historically accurate


End file.
